


lost, so lost

by thestarsalonecantell



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mentioned Funeral, Wakes & Funerals, everyone is sad, it’s midnight and I am sad, the death happened before the start of the fic okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsalonecantell/pseuds/thestarsalonecantell
Summary: and oh,I hope you knowthat you’re my homebut now I’m lost, so lost—Taeyong has a hard time coping





	lost, so lost

**Author's Note:**

> title and summary from forest fire by Brighton 
> 
> I hope this makes you cry as much as I cried yeet

Today is just another day Taeyong wakes to the birds chirping and the sun shining through the gap in his curtains. Another day he wastes in bed. He feels raw, like the moment he emerges from his duvet everything will be exposed to the whole world and he just doesn’t want to face it. While the rest of the world moves on with birdsong and the warm sun, he’s stuck here, because how can he move on? How could he possibly ever move on from this? 

It must be the day that his friends get tired of weeks of his absence, of unread texts and unanswered voicemails, because as Taeyong watches the clock on his bedside table display the ever-present passage of time from 6:04 to 6:05pm, an insistent knocking sounds at his door. They must have eventually figured out that he’d disconnected his doorbell. 

Slowly, wearily, Taeyong stands up, dragging the duvet with him since he’s not prepared to lose that final layer of protection yet. Everything within him screams at him not to open the door, but he pushes through it because he knows that his friends deserve to know if he’s still alive at the very least. 

The door opens and it’s Yuta, of course it’s Yuta, his closest friend since childhood, the only one who witnessed firsthand the growth of the bond that existed - still exists - between Taeyong and  _ him _ . “Come in.” Taeyong mutters, making no effort to open the door further and instead turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”

“Tae, I really don’t think now’s the time-” Yuta suggests softly, following him into the flat, but Taeyong doesn’t let him finish because he knows Yuta wants to talk and he doesn’t want to talk. He knows that once he starts, everything he’s tried to hard to keep hidden will come spilling out and what’s the point, when the one person that should be hearing it will never be able to? 

He asks how many sugars Yuta likes in his tea. It’s one, and Taeyong knows this, but he asks anyway just to fill the silence and to try to stop his friend looking at him with pity in his eyes. His hands tremble as he goes to fetch two mugs from the overhead cupboard and his eyes lay upon the mug with the grumpy bunny on, the one he always saved for  _ him _ . 

Yuta plucks the mugs out of his shaking hands before he can drop them, a welcome relief as Taeyong stares at the stupid rabbit design, pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth and wills himself not to cry. “I think we should talk-” he begins again, but Taeyong pushes the switch on the kettle to drown out the rest of Yuta’s words. Yuta takes a seat on the stool by the kitchen counter and doesn’t attempt to repeat himself. 

While the water boils, Taeyong busies himself with finding some biscuits next to the breadbin and milk in the fridge. He arranges the biscuits on a plate for something to do, because the weight of Yuta’s eyes on him just keeps getting heavier even through the duvet and he knows it’ll wear him down if he doesn’t keep moving. 

At some point, Yuta tells him that the teabags have been steeping for long enough and it dawns on him that while he’d been desperately trying to distract himself from his own thoughts, Yuta had noticed the water boiling and poured it into the mugs, all without saying anything. Taeyong removes the teabags hurriedly, spoon clinking against ceramic more than necessary, and he’s just wondering if asking Yuta how much milk he wants would be going too far when-

“The funeral is tomorrow.” 

The statement hits Taeyong like a punch to the gut as he turns away from the mugs on the counter. It’s too soon, he needs more time, and he says so. 

“We’ve been trying to tell you for the past week,” Yuta says, and his voice is thick with unshed tears, “but you weren’t answering the doorbell, and we thought it would be too shocking to tell you over text.” He sighs. “Not that you’re reading those either.” 

Taeyong wants to kick himself for being so selfish. These people, his best friends, have been trying desperately to contact him despite their own overwhelming grief, and he’s been ignoring them and giving them another thing to worry about. 

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles. “I’m really, really sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Yuta says, even though it clearly isn’t okay. “We all deal with things in our own way, I just had to make sure you knew about the funeral.” 

The funeral. Taeyong doesn’t want to think about having to look at, even carry the casket containing  _ him _ , having to give a speech that he hasn’t even begun to think about writing. Having to say goodbye with so many things unsaid. 

“I should’ve- Yuta, I should’ve told him-” Taeyong cuts himself off. 

“Should’ve told him what?” But there’s no curiosity in his friend’s expression, just a guarded look of sympathy. 

“Yuta, I should’ve told him… that I love him,” Taeyong’s voice cracks on ‘love’ as the tears begin to fall, “that I’ve loved him  _ this whole fucking time _ , and I was just too much of a coward to tell him but now I can’t.” He buries his face in his hands, leaning back against the counter. His duvet drops to the floor but he barely even notices. “I can’t tell him because he’s  _ dead _ , Doyoung’s dead, and he’ll never know how I’m stupidly in love with him, and I just can’t see any sort of future without him in it…!” His speech dissolves into sobbing, raw sounds that tear at his throat. 

Immediately Yuta stands and gathers him into a hug, a hand rubbing Taeyong’s back and his own tears seeping into Taeyong’s shoulder. “I know.” he whispers brokenly. “I know.” And as Taeyong falls apart, his best friend holds him. 

  
  
  
  


The tea’s long since gone cold by the time Taeyong’s composed himself, so he pours it all down the sink and boils the kettle again. This time he grabs the bunny mug for himself, smiling sadly at the pouty expression on the cartoonish rabbit’s face. 

“You know,” Yuta says to him as they sit down in the living room, “I think Doyoung knew.” 

Taeyong looks up at him. 

“I think he loved you too.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


———

  
  
  
  
  


The speech Taeyong makes at Doyoung’s funeral ends up going like this: 

_ Kim Dongyoung. The Student Council president, the uptight bastard, the kindest and best man anyone could ever have the pleasure of knowing. And me, I was lucky enough to know him from the age of 6 years old, and because even little me could see how brightly he shined, you can bet I stuck around. There’s always been something about him that you can’t quite name, as if God made him and decided to put a spiritual label on him, like, ‘This is one of the good ones’.  _

_ Doyoung was - is - everything to me. My study buddy, my best friend… the love of my life. My biggest regret is not telling him how much he really means to me, so Doyoung, if you’re somehow listening, this is for you.  _

_ I’m in love with you. I’m so ridiculously in love with you, have been since we were kids, and I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to say it while you were alive. You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and you never failed to put a smile on my face.  _

_ I miss you so much already and there’s a massive hole in my life I’ll never be able to fill, but don’t worry, I’ll live on for you. I’ll take care of your parents and I’ll do everything you wanted to do on that crazy bucket list we made 10 years ago. I hope I can make you proud.  _

_ See you in the afterlife, if there is one. _

_ I love you _ . 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on Twitter @thestarsalone


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